


To Say Goodbye

by Awritesomething



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, One Shot, Other, Post Season 2 Finale, Reflection, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:15:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28412244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Awritesomething/pseuds/Awritesomething
Summary: The silver ball appeared insignificant beneath the dim cantina lighting, no more than a scrap of a ship turned to ashes and a useless remnant of a past life. But Din knew he held the weight of a story between his gloved fingers—one that spoke of the bond between a man who never showed his face and a green-eared child with a gift. To the man’s initial reluctance, their paths had become one. And even if in the end their paths diverged once more, the man would never forget the child. The man, of course, could only hope the child would never forget him too.--An insight into Din's thoughts and emotions after the season 2 finale
Relationships: Din Djarin & Grogu | Baby Yoda
Comments: 6
Kudos: 43





	To Say Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone!
> 
> Much like my other one-shot for The Mandalorian, this piece explores what exactly is going on in Din's mind. He's been through a lot this season so I thought a post-chapter 16 insight into how Din is doing would be interesting in contrast to the one I did for pre-chapter 15. Hopefully someday I'll write something a little happier with Din, but today was not that day. Please excuse any Star Wars inaccuracies and ignore the fact I didn't name the planet, haha. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Din Djarin arrived on this obscure planet three days ago on a ship he was uncertain would ever feel like home. 

He spent most of his time in the cantina. It seemed to have patrons at all hours of the day, with people filtering in and out as they met for a meal or to discuss a trade before carrying on to complete their half of the transaction. As Din had come to learn, it was an easy place to go unnoticed. No one pestered him to order the special of the day, and if anyone got a little too curious about his presence, it only took a few seconds of Din’s imposing stare for them to lose interest. Din didn’t want trouble, and thankfully, no one else wanted it either. 

Not too long ago, Din had been comfortable with solitude. He had even preferred it, as silence had been the steadiest part of his life. Now, however, it seemed he had forgotten what it was like to be alone. 

With the Child, silence had become a stranger. Din had found himself speaking aloud just because he could, each time watching closely for the way the Child's ears perked at his words. He spoke of the places they’d traveled, the people they had met, and the dangers they had escaped. At first, the mindless conversations left Din startled to realize he had at some point become unfamiliar with the sound of his own voice when he laughed a true laugh or whispered the stories his mother taught him as a child. But for once, there was more to life than the day after day routine of blaster fire and carbonite. 

The Child had become Din's purpose, and without him, Din felt aimless. He had spent the last few days trying to focus on his new ship. Din figured he needed to determine what supplies he lacked and which settings were optimal for any situation he might find himself in. Yet he could only handle the quiet for so long before opting for the cantina, finding solace in the clink of glasses and the low chatter of voices. 

The door to the cantina swung open and Din looked up. A woman entered, a thin scarf draped loosely around her to protect her from the rays of the sun. The woman glanced around the perimeter of the cantina as if in search of a friend, her eyes catching on where Din sat in the shadows. 

Din wondered what she saw: a man dressed head to toe in armor, a spear across his back, and a blaster at his hip. Around here it wasn’t necessary to carry so many weapons, but this man looked like he knew how to use them. Maybe she’d search her memory, eventually realizing the shining silver he wore was beskar. He was a Mandalorian. Din met the woman’s gaze and she quickly turned away, perhaps glad to spot her companion sitting at the bar on the other side of the room. 

From what Din knew of the planet, the locals were used to outsiders. This was a planet of runaways. Din did not consider himself a runaway, instead settling on the idea that he merely needed some time to figure out what came next. But the new and unwelcome weapon clipped to his belt suggested he too had something to run from, a fate that would someday find him regardless of whether he was ready. 

A fast-moving server brushed past Din, balancing in their hands a platter of glasses sloshing a pink liquid. Din watched as the server set the platter down before a group sitting a few tables in front of him. The group was quick to grab their drinks and even quicker to send the server back to the kitchen for seconds. Din was yet to order anything himself today, but because the staff was gracious enough to not disturb him, Din had decided he would purchase something on his way out. As the server passed Din for a second time, Din’s attention fell from the rowdy group to the empty chair at the other side of his own table. 

Naively, Din had once thought adjusting to travel with the Child had been the most difficult thing he'd face. No longer had Din been able to fly for as long as the fuel in his ship would carry him. With the Child, Din had made (many) more stops to eat, and when it was safe enough to do so, he even took the time to step away from his work, something he wasn't sure he had ever done.

But now alone again, Din realized it was the opposite that proved to be true. Adjusting to the Child's absence was much more difficult. 

Din missed the feeling of nails scraping at his boots, one of the Child’s many ways of asking to be picked up. Din missed the way the Child would shriek with joy after one of his questionable piloting decisions. Din even missed waking up to a very persistent someone smacking their hands against the exterior of his helmet. 

From the breathy way Cara had said _that was Luke Skywalker_ the moment the doors closed behind the Jedi, Din knew the Child was in good hands. The Child would receive proper training and most importantly, learn to protect himself. Protecting was one of the things Din liked to think he was good at. But even as much as Din hated to admit it, he knew he was not capable of protecting the Child from everything.

For that reason, perhaps sacrifice was the most challenging lesson Din had learned in caring for the Child. Holding the responsibility of another life in your hands was scary. It was a cycle of putting your own desires aside to better the life of someone dependent on you. But hardest of all, it was also recognizing when you yourself were not capable of giving your child what proved to be best for them. 

As of late, Din found his mind drifting back to his own parents. In a moment of desperation, they had hidden him away. Within that moment, Din suspected his mother and father had wanted nothing more than to hold him close. But to do so would have meant the loss of all three of their lives. And because of the choice they did make, Din survived. Maybe Din had been able to reach Grogu this time. But deep down, Din knew there would come a time when he would not. That’s how Din knew he made the right choice.

Din shifted in his chair and retrieved the silver ball from his pocket. The ball appeared insignificant beneath the dim cantina lighting, no more than a scrap of a ship turned to ashes and a useless remnant of a past life. But Din knew he held the weight of a story between his gloved fingers—one that spoke of the bond between a man who never showed his face and a green-eared child with a gift. To the man’s initial reluctance, their paths had become one. And even if in the end their paths diverged once more, the man would never forget the child. The man, of course, could only hope the child would never forget him too.

Din shook his head. That wasn’t even the full story. After all, the man _had_ shown his face. 

As a Mandalorian, it was a question Din had become accustomed to receiving: "have you ever taken off your helmet?" Over the years, Din had heard the question with every variation of intent. Some took the form of a malicious taunt, and others were just simply curious. 

Yet, for as long as Din had worn his helmet, the answer had always been _no_. Depending on who was asking, it was an answer Din often chose to convey with a long stare. But now even that would be a lie. 

_Yes, I’ve taken off my helmet._

"Why?"

_Once to save my own life,_

_Once to save the life of someone else,_

_And once to say goodbye._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments are always appreciated.


End file.
